


The King's Gambit

by Kirishimama



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A lot of feels, AU, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Angst, Angst is mostly internal, BUT HEY AT LEAST I KNOW HOW MANY CHAPS IM DOING, Depression, F/M, He talks i swear, I Don't Even Know, I mostly have this thing planned out but who knows with me tbh, Is it bad that im in love with my own work ????, KageHina - Freeform, Kags isnt mute just cant communicate properly, Like.. for real, Lovesick idiots, M/M, My interpretation of kags, OOC kags probably, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, Stronger look into Kageyama’s character, Tears were shed in the making of this fic, The kitadai school arc nobody asked for, Volleyball isn’t the Main Thing, fite me, hope u guys enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing, kageyama pov, no notes coz i dont want them to disrupt the flow, o shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-10 15:57:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12915240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirishimama/pseuds/Kirishimama
Summary: “Love is free- but you have it in riches. I was a poor man, and you made me a King.”-Kageyama Tobio, May 2020.





	The King's Gambit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing is a release. There are no inhibitions, expectations or _reason_. He doesn’t need to explain himself for writing what he does, and that’s the beauty of it.
> 
> It’s everything he can’t say- everything he _wants_ to say. But people operate on different frequencies, and he can never find the right wavelength.
> 
> So he stops trying all together.

* * *

He is eleven. Words still do not come easy to him -they never have- but it is years later, and he is of an age where the understanding of more complex words should be registering in his head. 

His parents are worried. Tobio knows. Because for as subtle as the adults are _not_ ; Kageyama Tobio is not as blind as they seem to think he is.

He knows there is something not adding up in his head- that there is something inherently missing from his make up. But, for the life of him; he cannot locate the problem. (There _isn’t_ one, he thinks, scowling when another torchlight is shone into his eyes.)

Unsurprisingly, as time goes on and the amount of prodding doctors he visits increases; nothing improves.

Words get even harder to grasp onto when they drift even _further_ out of his reach, and when it comes to talking; they all race towards his throat, and- he chokes.

Things, understandably, get worse after that particular episode.

* * *

"The boy is not _normal_ , Masaru!"

(He stops and peeks around the corner.)

"What does it matter? He is still your _son_!" 

(The boy watches as his father clenches his fists in anger, and shoots the woman who looks eerily similar to his mother; a look Tobio has only ever seen _once_.)

“He is _yours."_

(It’s enough for him to know something is very, _very_ wrong.)

"No son of mine could ever be so slow-!"

(His ears are suddenly ringing- the vase his obaasan gifted them lays smashed at his feet.)

“Get out.”

(The..  _feeling_ he gets whenever he tries to talk comes rushing in, and he is lost.)

”Masaru, I-“

(Because he is at _home_ , his supposed sanctuary. So why can he not _breathe_ -?)

”If he is not your son- then I am not your husband! Now _GET OUT_!”

(He doesn't even feel the broken ceramic pieces digging into his knees as everything goes black.)

”Tobio...? _Tobio_!”

* * *

One of the very first things he'd learnt- years ago when he was but a pre-teen; was that colour is commonly used as a physical representation of emotion. It's why, when he stares down at the writing in his book, he isn't surprised to see it riddled to the brim with all different shades and hues of blue.

....

(Ironically, the first colour he uses is a bland, pale, pale, _pale_ shade of Sadness.)

....

His fingers won’t stop shaking.

It is silent, save for the light pattering of rain outside of his window, but he can only focus on the blank page before him.

There isn't, he can’t- he doesn’t know what to write, and-

> _“Hey my name is tobio_
> 
> _okaasan is **gone where is she** why did she **leave**_
> 
> _stupidstupid **ur fault** "_

The notebook goes flying across his room and he’s left alone in the dark of his room with only the sounds of his angry huffs to keep him company. 

(Not even a minute later does he open the ruffled book and frantically scratch out the last few sentences.

It’s then slammed shut, shoved under his bed, and forgotten about for the next two years.)

* * *

It is the middle of a school term when he leaves.

”I’m sorry, Tobio.”

His red eyes stare at the man in the drivers seat, heavy in their gaze and conveying the words he yet again can’t seem to form.

“You’re going to love your new school- I  _promise_.”

All he does is look out the window.

(He hates it.)


End file.
